


The Wrong Man

by JantoJones



Series: Modest Briefings (The 2nd 100) [44]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 04:08:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18563620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JantoJones/pseuds/JantoJones
Summary: Illya can't even enjoy time off without getting into trouble.





	The Wrong Man

The role of ‘wide-eyed, naïve immigrant’ was one which Illya Kuryakin played far too adeptly. His youthful looks, and oft-deployed pout and puppy-dog expression, only served to enhance the appearance of gullible innocence even further. Anyone who knew him well was very aware that there was little naïveté in him, and that all innocence had been taken from him at an early age. Had anybody been looking in at the predicament Illya had found himself in, they would detect absolutely no trace of the hardened, world-weary spy he was.

Illya had been in the middle of a one week leave and was walking home after a quick trip to the local store. He was dressed in pale blue jeans, and a dark blue t-shirt, in an effort to avoid any contact with anyone wishing him harm. He was known for his own style of dress, even by Thrush, so it was hoped the casual, non-black, dress would prove to be enough of a disguise.

It wasn’t.

Illya had been grabbed right off the street by two people, gagged, and transported to somewhere about half an hour away. The kidnappers had carried the struggling agent down to a basement and shackled him to a wall. There they’d conducted a search. By pure chance, Illya was carrying nothing which would identify who he was, or that he was a member of U.N.C.L.E. He had expected his trip to the store to be no longer than ten minutes, so had merely pushed some cash and his keys into his pocket. Even his communicator was left behind.

“I knew today would be a good day,” said the first man, who Illya had mentally named ‘Stinky’. “Though, I never would have thought we’d get Illya Kuryakin so easily.”

The other man, who Illya was calling ‘Ugly’, nodded in agreement. This man removed the gag from Illya and explained, in explicit detail, what would happen to him if he refused to answer their questions.

“Why you do this?” Illya asked in broken English, with his eyes wide, and a tone of abject fear into his voice.

“Don’t play games, Kuryakin,” snarled Stinky. ”It won’t wash with me.”

“Please, you have wrong person. I Dima. Dima Garin.”

Ugly pulled a pistol from his belt and aimed it at his captive’s head. Illya recoiled from the weapon as best he could with his confinement and began to visibly tremble.

“Bozhe Moy! Bozhe Moy! Bozhe Moy! ( _My God!_ )” he wailed, staring at the black metal of the gun. “Pozhaluysta, nye delayte mne bol'no! ( _Please don’t hurt me!_ )

Stinky slapped Illya hard across the right cheek and was astounded when the man burst into tears. The shaking and sobbing caused theThrush men to start wondering if they had got the wrong man after all. They knew Kuryakin to be a good actor, but this guy was an absolute emotional wreck. So much so, he’d actually started praying.

Ugly pulled Stinky to one side.

“What shall we do?” he asked. “I don’t think this is Kuryakin, but we can’t just let him go.”

“We’ll have to kill him,” Stinky replied. “We’ll dump the body somewhere away from here.”

“I’m going to release you from the wall, Stinky told the crying man, “But don’t try anything. My friend here will happily shoot you.”

As soon as his wrists were free, Illya dropped to the ground, begging for his captors to let him go. Several escape scenarios flashed around his brain, but he wouldn’t know his next move until the men who had taken him moved first. He didn’t have to wait long.

Ugly pressed his gun against the top of Illya’s head. With barely a beat, the U.N.C.L.E. agent reached up, grabbed the gun and, rolling to one side, he shot Ugly square in the chest. He died almost immediately. Illya swung the gun at Stinky, who held his hands up in surrender. The Thrush was instructed to turn around and hardly felt the blow which knocked him out. Illya shackled him where he had been mere moments before and went to call a clean-up team.

He really wasn’t looking forward to Napoleon finding out about the whole incident. The American was already convinced the Russian could get himself into trouble without trying.


End file.
